Chapter 11

A tiny voice, almost too soft to hear.

But some fans still caught it.

[Qi Qi doesn’t talk about others, but Eidis is Qi Qi’s idol—you guys forgot?]

[Qibao really likes E God a lot.]

[Qi Qi, won’t Captain Lang get jealous if you say that?]

[Huh? Qiluo likes Eidis? No way, I’ve always shipped him with Captain Lang.]

[Don’t worry, no one in the esports circle can resist Eidis. Maybe even Captain Lang is a fan.]

[Oh oh, not that kind of like.]

Yun Qi picked topics from the bullet screen to chat with everyone. Before long, those fans who had wandered off came crawling back.

[Fake news! Who spread that rumor?]

[Don’t go, Eidis isn’t streaming—Liu Ying just said so.]

[Where did this rumor even come from? I shouldn’t have believed E God would stream.]

[Hey, I just checked—scared me half to death. How does E God have so many fans? His account barely has any videos.]

[Still puzzled? Fans from all over the world. He’s made a name for himself on the foreign servers.]

[Fair point: I admit E God’s skills are top-tier, but a lot of people who don’t even play the game are in it for his looks. His merch sells out instantly.]

[And get this—do you know E God’s market value? Someone crunched the numbers; check Caiyun’s video. Not many clubs can afford him.]

[Overseas teams have thrown crazy offers too. I remember the leaks—sky-high prices, but E God turned them down.]

[Bullshit. Even if Eidis wanted to go, KRO wouldn’t let him.]

The stream’s rhythm shifted to rumors about him. Netizens lit up with enthusiasm whenever they talked about Eidis. Yun Qi watched the text fly by on the bullet screen, dropping a firm affirmation amid the heated debates: “He won’t go overseas.”

[Qibao seems to know something?]

[Does Qi Qi hang out with E God privately?]

[What does that mean?]

[Did E God tell you?]

Yun Qi’s voice was gentle: “His market value is sky-high, and KRO wouldn’t let him go easily. But with his achievements, even KRO can’t hold him back forever. There’s only one reason he hasn’t joined a foreign team: he doesn’t want to. He won’t go. He was born on Chinese soil—he won’t let another country’s flag fly above the Five-Star Red Flag.”

Everyone in the training room heard his words. They turned to look at Yun Qi. Jiu Shuang and Chen Xia didn’t say much; the streaming setup wasn’t ideal right there in the training room, but they played along whenever Yun Qi went live, keeping quiet so his voice came through clear.

They listened as he spoke freely about Eidis, praising him just like everyone else. Eidis had an insane fan count, and his skills were legitimately terrifying—haters had no ground to stand on. No tech streamer or pro dared badmouth him. But Yun Qi was different. There was a certainty in his tone, unlike the hype from others.

It was as if he knew the man. Understood him. Had lived alongside him.

[Damn, I got nothing to say to that.]

[Aaaah, baby, that was beautifully said. I believe Eidis stays for patriotism too.]

[Hell, that’s pretty good. Won’t curse you out for now.]

[Oh man, if that’s true, I like Eidis even more.]

[Please, Eidis, compete this year!]

The stream lasted two hours—not long, just meeting SK Base’s minimum requirement. When Yun Qi signed off, fans begged him to stay. The trolls weren’t quiet either, but Yun Qi had thick skin; he glanced at the hate once and let it roll off.

While he streamed, the others played games nearby. By the end of the night, everyone had regained their groove.

When Lang Xian came over, Yun Qi didn’t even glance at him, as if he’d completely forgotten last night’s clash. Lang Xian sat beside him like always and asked, “You eaten yet?”

Yun Qi stood and walked out of the training room without looking back.

The movement drew glances from the others. Lang Xian leaned back in his chair, looking like he hadn’t slept well.

For the next couple of days, Lang Xian left Yun Qi alone.

For those couple of days, SK Team reached an unprecedented level of harmony.

Maybe it was because there were no scrims. Everyone just sat at their stations watching variety shows, scrolling videos, browsing sites, messing around with whatever. When the itch got too bad, they’d queue up some casual games to scratch it. Peak Matches, which were hell for regular players, became nothing more than light entertainment for pros.

This peaceful vibe lasted a full week. It gave the fans time to cool off too—the loss faded from memory, and the SK members had come to terms with it.

A week passed. Once everyone had recovered their condition, Danwan successfully joined the team. To train him, Lang Xian organized a five-stack match against an indie team—no scrims with pro squads.

Yun Qi’s position overlapped with Danwan’s, but he understood the team’s intentions and felt no resentment. He knew this day would come sooner or later, so he yielded without complaint. “You guys play.”

He cleared off his desk, packing up his belongings as if he were rolling up his bedroll and hitting the road. The others glanced at him but said nothing.

Danwan was a natural socializer, blending into SK with ease. For the past few days, Yun Qi had simply watched their matches from the sidelines; he hadn’t even set foot in the training room. He kept the coach’s strategy tweaks in mind, aware that his pro career might be sidelined for a stretch.

He hadn’t streamed at all during this time either. His fans were clamoring on his account, and Yun Qi’s response was simply that he was taking a few days to rest.

But anomalies soon caught everyone’s eye. During a five-stack, they crossed paths with a streamer in the support role—and the player had changed. Fans quickly pieced it together, realizing Yun Qi was likely headed to the second team.

[No way, I want to see Qibao!]

[Qibao’s soft support play is amazing—why is SK swapping him out?]

[Are all the losses Qiluo’s fault? He did everything he could, right? I didn’t spot any issues with his support.]

[SK, give us an explanation. Thanks.]

[Captain Lang, cat got your tongue?]

That day, Yun Qi was resting in his room.

A sudden knock echoed at his door.

He opened it to find the new support standing there.

Danwan shifted awkwardly in the doorway. “Uh… you busy right now?”

He got along with pretty much everyone, a real people person, but things were different with Yun Qi. Their rivalry made every interaction loaded with caution.

“Something up?”

Danwan jammed his hands in his pockets. “Nah, not really. Just wanted to say—I’m not trying to shove you out. This whole situation? I don’t call the shots.”

What he meant was that Yun Qi was still on the starting roster, yet barred from team training sessions. With no directive from above on his placement, rooming with the new support felt unbearably awkward.

“It’s the team’s call. Just go with it. My future’s got nothing to do with you—no need to walk on eggshells around me, seriously.” Yun Qi spoke with genuine sincerity. “Resting’s a blessing, and you handle support great. The team needs a specific lineup; we’ll make it work together.”

Danwan couldn’t tell if it was diplomacy or heartfelt truth. All he knew was he didn’t want bad blood with his soon-to-be teammates. The guy in front of him was a big name in the scene, tangled in all sorts of drama. Pros scorned backdoor entries—being trash at the game was the cardinal sin. Truth be told, Danwan hadn’t been a fan of this starter who’d clawed his way in through connections.

“Heard you’re tight with Captain Lang?” Danwan ventured. “Word is he pulls strings around here. Mind giving me the rundown on his sway?”

Yun Qi gave him a once-over. Danwan was average-looking at best, nothing like the rest of SK. The team was notorious for cherry-picking not just talent but faces too. Signing someone like Danwan, who didn’t fit their aesthetic mold, signaled SK was finally committing to the straight and narrow.

That clash with KRO hadn’t been all downside. It forced a reckoning: this wasn’t some idol gig coasting on visuals. Pro esports crowned skill above all. Chasing cash and chasing trophies were at odds, and SK’s internal rot ran deep. Danwan’s signing proved the brass had woken up—you couldn’t have your cake and eat it. Pros were investments, not pretty props.

SK was a hype machine at heart, stumbling into the grand finals this year on sheer luck. In a field of peak performances, they’d be lucky to sniff the top three.

“Why SK?” Yun Qi shot back instead. Danwan blinked, caught flat-footed, before mumbling a reply.

“Championship dreams,” he said. “Plus, my old team’s a mess inside—personal stuff too. Couldn’t stick around.”

Yun Qi let it drop with a nod. “SK’s got its own skeletons, but new blood should patch some holes.”

Danwan looked puzzled.

Yun Qi clarified. “Right… you asked about Captain Lang’s pull? It’s massive. He decides who stays and who goes. Want longevity here? Level up your game—and keep the captain sweet.”

Danwan hesitated. “Captain’s got that much juice?”

Yeah. So much it defied reason.

Lang Xian had been in the pro scene for years, knew everyone worth knowing, and had spent a long time with SK—not to mention his connections. Staying on his good side was no big deal, but crossing him meant you were done for in the pro scene. That was the real terror of it. Yun Qi had always known how dangerous he could be, but it wasn’t until Lang Xian booted Zhang Zan that he truly grasped the staggering authority a mere captain could wield.

This esports team was rotten through and through, the kind of rot that left you gasping for air.

“You haven’t done anything major to piss him off, so he won’t come after you without cause. He’s decent enough with the regular guys, and he’s got real skill too. Stick together from here on out, and you’ll all go a lot further.”

“I see.” Danwan mulled over the undercurrents for a moment. He never would have guessed SK had this kind of mess before signing on.

“Any other questions?” Yun Qi noticed him zoning out.

Danwan shook his head. “None.”

Yun Qi nodded. “Then I’m off to get some rest.”

Danwan gave another nod. Yun Qi offered a faint smile as he started to close the door, but the guy outside suddenly piped up with another question, as if struck by a fresh spark of curiosity. “Hang on—if cozying up to Captain Lang is the key to sticking around long-term, then I shouldn’t even be here. How’d you let yourself… wind up like this?”

That was the real puzzle gnawing at him. Yun Qi seemed to have all the answers, and hadn’t he been the one fans were shipping as a couple with Lang Xian? Over the past week, Lang Xian had shown real concern for him. With all the online chatter suggesting those two might actually be the real deal, Danwan couldn’t shake the suspicion that some hidden drama was at play. He needed the full scoop, or he’d just be leaping from one trap into another.

Yun Qi’s hand tightened on the doorknob. He stared down at the gleaming floor, his fingertips pressing just hard enough to produce the faintest click. “Because I was delusional…”

“And too dense to know better.”